Equals
by americajane00
Summary: a collection of one shots embodying the moments, across time and universes, in which bulma and/or vegeta realize they've found their equal in one another.
1. allies au

hello again :) so, this is the first installment in my series called "equals". essentially, this will be a collection of one shots embodying the moments, across time and universes, in which bulma and/or vegeta realize they've found their equal in one another. this first story is based in one of the many AUs that will be introduced in this series.

also, if people enjoy these AUs, I will continue the story lines that are established in these alternate universes :)

please read and review :) it always helps to hear back from the readers! much love, aj

disclaimer: i don't own these characters or dbz/dbs

* * *

"Look Vegeta, this is your great grandfather, Vegeta the fifth. He defended our planet from the Bourkans, a nasty race who attempted to assassinate his father. And this is your great great grandmother, Rugala, who formed an alliance with the Sirena. She once defeated five elite soldiers with her eyes closed. She was the last female born to the House of Vegetasei" His mother lists the facts with pride, gesturing to various portraits that line the grand hallway leading to his father's throne room.

At 18 years old, Prince Vegeta understands his role in this kingdom. Since he was a toddler, he wakes in the morning to attend class with his private tutors and then spars with his father. Later in the day, he observes the affairs occurring in the throne room, analyzing the Saiyan law system and learning his responsibilities as king.

One of his favorite parts of the day has always been his daily walk with his mother. Now that it is rainy season, they take their walks inside usually. When the hot sun is out, they traverse the gardens with servants, who hold great Baboo leaves above the heads of the mother and son duo.

"Do you see this painting here, _nasi'ito_? See the larger outline? There was a traitor within the royal family at one point. He shall not be named, but his portrait once hung here. But supposedly no one knows what happened to it." She wiggles her eyebrows at her son. Vegeta finds his mother's adventurous, slightly rebellious spirit to be refreshing. While his father is the more sensible one, his mother is the one who would stay up late at nights to tell Vegeta and Tarble stories of the ancient warriors, and of the golden Saiyan warriors who achieved the power of legends.

"You know what happened to the painting, right _Eema_?" The young prince inquires knowingly.

"Of course. It is in the royal archives." She waves her hand dismissively as she continues down the hallway. In front of them, the royal guards in front of the throne room shift their positions, signaling the turn of the hour.

"Okay, chou'chou. We must go in there before our allies arrive. Remember to sit up straight and please, _try_ to be respectful." Her hand smoothes her son's cape and adjusts his golden royal insignia. Taking a step back to survey her work, she ruffles her son's hair and is rewarded with a scowl. Her laughter echoes the hallways as she enters they enter the throne room.

"Hurry, _Ishshah'lina_ , the Earthlings will be here soon." King Vegeta sits on a large throne that is made of etched blue and gold stones. To his right is Queen Echalotte's throne, and to the left is Prince Vegeta's throne. Behind the throne platform is an enormous metal carving of the insignia of the House of Vegetasei.

Prince Vegeta follows his mother up the steps to where his father sits. They both incline their heads respectfully before sitting down in their respective seats. King Vegeta puts a hand on his son's shoulder as Prince Vegeta walks near him to sit down.

Vegeta dreads this day every year. Annually, the Brief family make a trip from their planet (called _Earth_ , whatever that silly word means) and comes to Vegetasei, bearing weapons to provide to the Saiyans, who protect Earth as a form of payment. That situation would be entirely fine with Vegeta— but, the catch is that they _always_ bring their insufferable daughter. Being that the Brief's blue devil of a daughter is a year younger than Prince Vegeta, they are constantly forced to interact. Vegeta shows up at a royal dinner? He's assigned to escort the witch. He attends a gala or a ball, and finds a mop of blue hair seated next to him. During the waltz, his mother practically throws him into the arms of the evil Earthling. It's absolutely revolting.

And as if his distaste for the female wasn't enough, the Earthling seems to despise him with a hate that matches his own, as if he is not the crowned prince of Vegetasei and she a lowly servant woman. The cursed woman is manipulative too, always acting like an angel in front of the parents, while gloating about her latest accomplishments with a sickeningly sweet smile. It makes Vegeta want to throw up. But this time, he knows he will outmatch her. He's been specifically training extremely hard in the past months, purposefully achieving accolade after accolade so he can shove them all down the blue devil's throat when she arrives.

A wicked smirk grows on his face, and for the first time he's almost looking forward to the Brief's arrival so that he can humiliate the female.

"Now son, you must be on your best behaviour. The Brief's arrival means a lot to our planet, boy." His father instructs. Vegeta rolls his eyes.

"I know, father." He answers, huffing.

"Vegeta, for once please obey your father's instructions. When he says this visit is important, he means it." The Queen hisses, something urgent in her voice. Vegeta furrows his brow, trying to see through his parent's strange behaviour, when the doors to the throne room open and the Brief's family enters. They walk in a line, the doctor in the front, followed by his wife. Vegeta assumes the blue harpy is behind her mother, and his assumptions are proven correct when he sees a blur of aquamarine hair.

Surrounded by guards, the Briefs approach, the black creature perched on the doctor's shoulder and the blond woman tittering. The royal couple stands up and the prince follows suite. stifling a groan. 'Here we go.' He thinks grudgingly.

"Greetings, Dr. Brief, Mrs. Brief, Miss Brief." King Vegeta booms, stretching out one arm.

"It's a delight to see you." The queen adds warmly.

The Briefs nod and line up, curtseying and bowing accordingly. Vegeta's father nudges his son's arm while the Brief's are looking at the ground.

"Hello, Dr. Brief and Mrs. Brief. I hope your travels went well." Prince Vegeta almost ends there, but continues after a stern look from his mother.

"And Miss Brief. Your hair is looking… bluer." He continues, disgust creeping into his voice.

The young scientist glares up at the young prince, lifting her chin high.

"My, it's always a pleasure, _your highness_." She spits out the title like it's venomous.

There's an awkward moment, before Mrs. Brief lets out a nervous giggle and King Vegeta clears his throat.

"Now, we hope you are all settled?" King Vegeta inquires, still standing.

"Yes, the accommodations are perfect as usual." Dr. Briefs answers.

"Splendid. So we can expect to see you in the dining hall on the half-hour?" Queen Echalotte asks.

"Spectacular!" Exclaims Mrs. Brief, clapping her hands.

The Brief group bow and curtsey once again, before making an about face to exit the room. Prince Vegeta deflates, happy that the greetings are finally over, but dreading dinner.

* * *

In a half-hour, the royal family is assembled in the grand dining room. Queen Echalotte has changed out of her formal battle armor into her night outfit, consisting of a strapless, deep red body suit, made of flowing material and accessorized with a black armored corset and black, fingerless gloves. On her head she wears her golden and red crown.

Vegeta's father's outfit compliments his wife's. He wears the navy blue battle suit, coupled with a white cape pinned with the gold insignia of the House of Vegeta.

Much to his dismay, Prince Vegeta was dressed in his most formal outfit: a navy blue body suit, a red cape, and his white and gold battle armor. Despite his protests, his mother insisted he wear the 'proper attire suited for a Prince of the House of Vegeta'. He had asked why he had to dress formally for Earthlings who won't even appreciate his attire. She simply ignored him and walked off to make sure the chefs were cooking everything correctly.

Now he sits to the right of his father, who is at the head of the table, with the blasted female sitting to his right. Everyone is silent during the first course, but the prince notices his parents are sharing looks and the Brief wife continues to titter more than usual. Prince Vegeta's eyes narrow, and he glances at the Brief daughter.

She appeared to the dining room overdressed. Strutting into the dining room with her off-the-shoulder silver gown trailing behind her, she flashed the prince a confident smirk. He scowled in return. As he yanked out her chair for her and she sat, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the way her aqua curls draped across her back. He would be lying if he said silver matched unpleasantly with her exotic coloring.

And the witch must know that her appearance has let down some of his defenses, because she keeps shooting him triumphant looks. He's about to stick his tongue out at her if she looks at him that way one more time, when his father thumps his glass on the table three times, signifying he wants to speak.

"Now, let's get down to the true business of tonight. Children, we have something to discuss with you." His father's voice contains a hidden secret.

"We are incredibly excited, kids. And we know you will both comprehend the severity of this decision." Dr. Brief interjects. Vegeta thinks he might explode if they refer to him as a child one more time.

"You both know that the Cold Empire is becoming stronger and stronger. The alliance between Vegetasei and Earth has worked up until now, but we both feel that the current predicament calls for more drastic actions. On Earth, Dr. Brief has been studying a Saiyan-human hybrid and has discovered that the child is genetically stronger and more able than either of our races." Queen Echalotte explains excitedly.

"Daddy, why are we talking about Gohan? What does he have to do with any of this?" The blue female looks at her father warily.

"Bulma, dear, we have come up with a solution to our issues with the Cold Empire. It seems the Saiyans do not have enough brute force to defeat them, and even our inventions are failing. So, we have decided to encourage intermarriage amongst our races." Dr. Brief elaborates for his daughter.

Something clicks in the Brief girl's mind, and her eyes narrow as she clutches the tablecloth.

"And what better way to celebrate this development than with news of the betrothal of you two children." Vegeta's mother smiles. There is a moment that seems frozen in glass, before Bulma Briefs stands up, fury in her eyes. Defiantly, she throws her fork onto the table.

"I don't know who any of you think I am, but I am not something you can use in negotiations! I've dedicated the _entirety_ of my short life to Capsule Corporation, and _this_ is how I'm repaid? Married off to the first royal brat who comes along! I can barely stand to be in the same room as this…. this _devil_ , and you want me to MARRY HIM?" At this point, Prince Vegeta stands up as well, enraged.

"It's not as if I am pleased with this decisi-" She cuts him off.

"Save it, _your majesty_. I will never be a tool and I will _never be your woman_." With that, she throws her napkin at him and stomps out of the room.

As Prince Vegeta watches her storm off, he feels something in his stomach stir. No one has ever dared to speak to him that way. No one has ever dared to interrupt him. He is the crown prince of Vegetesei, heir to the throne and the planet and the riches. Most women would throw themselves at the chance to marry him. But no, not this blue whirlwind from hell.

Looking back from many years ahead, he knows that this was the first moment he knew he had met his match, and her name was Bulma Brief.

* * *

(i know according to the dbz timeline, Gohan couldn't be born when Vegeta was 17 and Bulma was 16, but this is an AU so I took some creative license)

nasi'ito: my little prince. i combined some spanish with hebrew to come up with that word.

(and yes, sometimes i imagine vegeta as le petit prince and i cry). i do not own le petit prince, mais merci, antoine de saint-exupéry, pour le livre incroyable.

eema: yiddish for mom

chou'chou: french speakers will recognize this one. this is my version of "chouchou", which means darling but literally translates to 'cabbage cabbage'.

ishshah'lina: combination of hebrew for woman and an italian suffix for "my little". so literally, "my little woman".


	2. persephone and hades au

hello again :) here's a shorter chapter (but from a favorite au of mine), inspired by my other favorite couple, persephone and hades. this is set in a universe that is different from the universe introduced in the first chapter (to clarify). enjoy, and review if you feel so inclined! i appreciate anyone who reviewed/followed/favorited... you're all such an integral part of the writing process. thank you! love always, aj

disclaimer: i don't own dbz or dbs

* * *

He offers her a kingdom in the same way one would discuss the weather. She was admiring the tiara on display in the throne room, engrossed by its gorgeous ruby-red color, and he had leaned over her shoulder to see what she was fussing about. With a shrug and a dismissive wave, he stated, "You can have it if you're willing to pay the price."

Whipping her head around, she sees he has frozen where he stands, his back to her, waiting for an answer to the unasked question that hangs in the air: ' _will you stay?'_

In a flurry of pale pink tulle, she moves to stand in front of him, desperate to read what lies in the depths of his onyx eyes. Gazing up at him, a thousand questions flash through her mind in a moment. She feels a swarm of emotion in her stomach: uncertainty at what he's requesting of her, fear of what others will think, and insecurity concerning if he truly wants her.

But something in his eyes causes rebellion to bubble underneath her skin, and her hand reaches out to grasp his forearm.

"I want it." There's steel in her voice and she knows she's never been more sure of anything in her life.

He raises an eyebrow at her, but she just stares back at him, willing him to understand her resolution. His hand moves to push her off his arm, and he steps back.

"It is unwise to make a deal without understanding the cost." He says stonily.

"Anything, and it's yours." She repeats the words he told her all those nights ago, when she was simply an immature, lost girl who saw him as nothing but the god of darkness. My, if she had only known.

His eyes widen, and he steps toward her again, this time grasping both of her shoulders with tenacity.

"You don't know what you're asking for." His eyes seem to be pleading, but if he is pleading her to contradict him or agree with him, she cannot tell.

"Yes, I do." She states softly. The darkness, the throne, the crown, _him_ : she wants it all.

"I will not imprison you here." He insists, his face hovering close to her own, and she understands. With startling clarity, she realizes he's offering her a choice. He looks at her and sees someone capable of making her own decisions, whether that be to rule by his side or return to her planet. In his gaze, she is not a spoiled, ignorant princess. Instead, she is a woman capable of being a goddess. In that moment, she knows she's making the right choice.

"My Lord, is one who wishes to be captive truly imprisoned?" A small smile graces her lips, her eyes fixed on his mouth. For a moment, he breaths in and she thinks he is going to kiss her again, _finally_ , but instead he unclasps his black cape, allowing it to fall to the ground.

"You have to bite me." He informs her bluntly.

Curious, she runs a hand over the soft part of the neck that he's exposed to her.

"Bite you?" She echoes, still in thought.

"To give me a mating mark. Once I… mark you as well, we are bound as mates." She can almost hear him swallow.

"Bite a god in exchange for a kingdom? A throne?" She taps her lips, as if she must consider it and is not already hopelessly in love with him enough to follow him to the edges of the universe.

"And your meddling parents cannot do anything about it." He continues for her.

Suddenly, she grabs his face, gently pulling it towards her own.

"Promise you will be the one to crown me Queen." She insists. When he nods, she presses her lips against his. His mouth is as hot as a brand dipped into the fires of hell and gods, does it set her on fire.

Moving her lips from his to kiss along her jaw, she mutters prayers against his skin as she travels to his neck. She kisses the spot where she will mark him, once, twice. Her eyes flit up to look into his and a smile blooms across her face.

Bite a god and earn a title. Have him bite you back, and earn your freedom.

As she envisions herself in all black, to match him, she sinks her teeth into the soft spot near his vein, deep enough to draw blood.

Her mouth stained red, she grabs the back of his neck to press her lips to his once again.


	3. the scientist and the slave au

hey everyone! i'm so glad that people expressed interest in seeing the two previous chapters become actual stories, and that project is underway :) however, i will still be updating this series, continuing the concept of observing Bulma and Vegeta's relationship in different universes. this series is an outlet for me to develop my understanding of Bulma and Vegeta's relationship while also hearing back from the readers as to which stories interest them the most. if you become intrigued by a story, comment about it! i need to know which stories to expand upon :) you should expect the first chapter of the story based in the 'allies' world (first chapter of 'equals') up very very soon :) thanks always and please review if you want to!

disclaimer: i don't own any of these characters

* * *

Bulma cuts her hair all off the first day aboard Frieza's ship.

Scissors in her hand and hovering over a sink, she sobs with every snip. She cries for her family. She cries for her world.

As she runs her hands through the newly short tresses, she finally cries for herself. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she mentally memorizes every angle of her face and curve of her body. She takes a moment to admire her unblemished skin and the healthy glow in her face, not expecting any of her vitality to last in this dismal place.

Her hair, her biggest trademark, did not even make it twenty-four hours in this hell. During her meeting with Frieza, the tyrant had walked around her slowly, blatantly analyzing her. When a reptilian hand had reached out to take one of her curls between two fingers, she had broken into a cold sweat. Frieza narrowed his eyes and let out a startling chortle.

"My, such… exotic hair, my dear. I'm not sure I've ever seen a specimen with such coloring. What a shame you have a brain. You could be very useful in other _areas_." The way he hissed the word _areas_ , in his lilting, high-pitched voice, made Bulma's skin crawl. She truly did not believe she could make it one more moment in that freak's presence when there was a knock on the door of the Frieza's throne room.

"Who is it?" Frieza practically sang, taking one last lingering glance at Bulma before moving to sit on his throne. A soldier stepped into the room, crossing one arm over his chest and bowing to his master.

"Sir, we have the Saiyan." Bulma's mind filled with a thousand questions when she watched Frieza's reaction. Practically giddy, he clapped his hands together three times.

"Marvelous. Bring him in. Oh, and scientist girl, you can leave. Report for duty tomorrow at 7 sharp. Hope you have an enjoyable sleep tonight." Almost gagging, Bulma had inclined her head respectfully before fleeing the throne room, almost tripping over a mass of flesh and bone that laid crumpled outside the doors. Startled, Bulma stopped and bent down. The man's hands were bound behind his back.

"Are you okay?" She'd ask, gently touching the skin around a large, gaping wound on the man's shoulder. Hovering over the cut, she could see it went all the way to the bone.

"Get off of me." The man had growled, lifting his face to bare his teeth at her. She stumbled backwards, falling to her butt. The man's eyes were as black as night, one of them almost sealed closed and oozing.

Horrified, she scrambled onto her feet, hurrying down the hallway and away from the strange man. Nervously, she enters her sparse quarters, locking her bedroom door behind her before throwing herself on her bed, curling into herself and willing her eyes to close so that she might get some sleep.

* * *

She scurries through the hallways the next day on her way to the lab, feeling very much like a rat. Head down, feet moving quickly, weaving in and out of the crowd. Her baggy lab coat hides her figure and her hair is short enough that she could be mistaken for a young boy if she keeps her eyes trained on the ground. That's the point of course. Being a woman in a place like this never yields anything good. Her whole life, Bulma thrived on standing out, and now, she wishes she might sink into the floorboards and lay there forever, never noticed ever again.

With every step she takes, she prays Frieza won't be in the lab. She has no idea if that lizard ever even lowers himself to meddle with the lowly scientists, but she hopes that he doesn't. She knows if she sees him he will comment on her hair, and she knows she could very well be punished for her retribution to his comment.

Scanning her card, big glass doors open, revealing a lab filled with equipment she's never seen before. Under a dozen scientists stand scattered around the large room, doing various tasks. Scanning the room, her eyes land on Frieza, who stands in front of a large tank in which a man is suspended. Noticing her presence, the tyrant calls her over in his effeminate voice.

"Bulma, dear, come meet a dear friend of mine." Her cheeks burn as she approaches him and notices his sickeningly sweet smile fading into a disapproving frown.

"My little blue minx, what happened to your gorgeous head of locks? I hope none of my men did this to you." Tearing her eyes away from the man with the dark hair who floats in the tank full of strange liquid, Bulma looks down at Frieza's feet, clutching her arms around herself.

"No, Lord Frieza." She mumbles in response.

"No what, dear? What are you referring to?" She can hear his voice becoming sharper and gaining an edge of agitation.

"No, Lord Frieza, your men did not do this to me." She answers, still gazing at his feet.

"Then who, pray tell you little Earthling, rid you of your vibrantly blue hair?" Nervously, Bulma's eyes dart around until they land on the man in the tank behind Frieza. His eyes are open, and he watches her and Frieza's interaction with an intelligent gaze.

"Look at me, you insolent child." Bulma's gaze shoots back to Frieza's, and she takes a deep breath.

"I decided I needed a change of style, your Lordship." She looks straight into Frieza's eyes, raising her chin slightly as she addresses him.

"And who approved this change of style, _li_ _te blå_?" He asks her in some foreign tongue."I did." She answers after a slight pause, still holding his gaze. Behind Frieza, the man in the tank raises his eyebrow.

She can see Frieza's tail swaying angrily behind him, but the lizard keeps his face composed, before narrowing his eyes.

And like yesterday, he releases a chuckle that makes Bulma's heart jump in her chest.

"May I introduce you to the med wing's most prevalent visitor? All hail the Prince of the Monkeys. I believe the two of you would get along very well." With one last frightening giggle, Frieza begins to walk away.

"And darling Earthling, do make sure he is in prime condition before this afternoon. After that, resume any other assignments these… _scientists_ have for you." With that, he's out the door.

Turning her gaze to stare back at the strange man, Bulma folds her arms, thinking. Suddenly, she snaps.

"That's what it is! You're the guy from yesterday!" She says to the tank, and she swears the man inside rolls his eyes at her. Suddenly, the machine in front of her beeps loudly, and the liquid inside begins to drain. Unsure, Bulma steps back as the man removes the mask from his face. Before her, the door to the tank opens, revealing the man inside. Squeaking, Bulma covers her eyes as she realizes that the dark-haired male is naked.

"Servant woman, get me a towel!" She hears a deep voice command her. Peeking through one finger, she sees that the man is standing very close to her, entirely unconcerned by his nudity, ordering her around.

"I don't know where the towels are, you jerk!" She answers, her hands still covering her eyes.

"Tsk." He answers, "Well, look for one you imbecile!"

"But- I mean…" Sighing, she removes her hand and avoids his gaze as she looks around the premises for a towel. She flutters to grab one over by a large sink, before throwing the towel at the man's face. He scowls at her as he catches it before it smacks his jaw, and ties the towel around his waist. When he looks back up at her, he's smirking.

"Little female, have you never seen a male before?" He asks haughtily, raising his chin.

She glares daggers at him.

"Not that it's any of your business, but _yes_ , I have." She huffs, crossing her arms.

"My apologies. I just assumed from your reaction… But perhaps that reaction had more to do with how impressive I am, and not how inexperienced you are." He slips on shorts underneath his towel and begins to pull on a shirt.

"As if." Bulma rolls her eyes, unable to say more as she avoids watching his muscles ripple as he yanks his shirt on.

He rubs the towel on his head, making his already matted hair messier. She wants to reach out and touch it, but she keeps her hand by her side. Attempting to busy herself instead of standing there like a buffoon, she begins to shuffle through some supplies that's under a large metal table.

"Woman, if you're going to check my vitals like his _Lordship_ ," he spits out the title with a sneer, "asked you to, I suggest _not_ rummaging through the female health supplies."

Blushing, Bulma stands up and crosses her arms.

"How was I supposed to know. It's not like I'm from around here!" She exclaims, annoyed. His eyes travel over her form, but in a different way than Frieza's did. Frieza's eyes made her stomach boil and her skin freeze. This man's gaze raises goosebumps on her skin and starts a warm fire in her body.

"Yes, that's not difficult to tell." The man gives her a cocky smirk, striding over to her.

"Tell me," he whispers in her ear huskily, pinning her body between himself and the table behind her, "What was it that Frieza was berating you about before he left? I thought I was the only one who could get a rise out of him so easily." He chuckles evilly.

She needs to get this male off of her, because the feeling of being this close to him is taking away her ability to focus.

"He liked my hair, and so I cut it off." She punctuates her statement by pushing his shoulder off of her so he has to step back two steps. She can still smell his masculine scent mixed with the smell of chemicals. He's still too close. .

His eyes narrow and he seems to be reassessing her in his mind for a moment, before he throws his head back to laugh, reminding Bulma disturbingly of Frieza. Slightly frustrated, Bulma interrupts his laughing.

"Why were you so beat up yesterday?" She inquires, a hunch telling her it has something to do with the tyrant. His laughing stops, but a proud smirk stays on his lips.

"He wanted me to bow to him. I refused, as usual. He thrashed me around for about an hour, before leaving me in the dungeons for half the day. He wanted to see his handiwork before he let me into the rejuvenation tank." He shrugs. His eyes say that he expects her to be afraid, or worried, or begin to fuss over him. But instead, she returns his smirk.

"Frieza's going to have his hands full with the two of us, isn't he?" Underneath the humor of her comment, there's a biting question. The man's ears almost seem to perk up and he gives her a searing gaze, still smirking. She doesn't know his name but she thinks they've just formed an alliance. And a small seed of hope plants itself in her broken, black heart.

* * *

Lite blå: little blue


	4. normal universe

**hey~ thank you for all the follows and the favorites! i am working hard on writing the first chapter set in the allies (first chapter of equals) universe, and it will be posted ASAP! for now, i hope this little fic that takes place in the normal universe tides you all over :) please review if you'd like! tell me what you're thinking.**

 **i don't own any of these characters.**

* * *

"Shut up."

His gruff voice had interrupted her, masculine and deep and unexpected. Unsure, she glanced over at him as he explained a perfect plan for bringing Goku back. Fazed but always quick on her feet, she'd been ecstatic at the idea, letting how impressed she was slip out of her mouth. He simply avoided her gaze after the compliment, seemingly appalled at her behaviour.

Groaning, Bulma plants her face in the blueprints in front of her. Why can't she stop thinking about that moment? Every time she relives it, she gets even more embarrassed. She'd been flirting with that alien in front of all her friends, and he couldn't even spare her a glance. Why'd she always have to open her big mouth? Maybe that Saiyan could teach her a thing or two about social graces and being aloof. Glancing out her kitchen window, she can see him now practicing his katas, wearing only his small spandex shorts, his lean, muscled body glistening in the sun….

Oh yes, he could definitely teach her a thing or two. Honestly, she isn't even ashamed of her obvious attraction to him. She's a hot-blooded kind of girl and _he_ , well _he_ has the looks and the body of a god. With a giggle, she continues to watch him finish his handstand pushups. Unlike Yamcha, who's all bulk and protein supplements, Vegeta's body has a graceful litheness about it.

Lost in her thoughts about Vegeta (and, more importantly, Vegeta's cute butt), she accidentally knocks over her iced tea, spilling it all over her blueprints and herself. With a bloodcurdling screech, she grabs the papers and pulls them away from the liquid. Looking down at her white shirt, she realizes it's soaked through and lets out another frustrated shout before going to pick up the glass.

Her arm is suddenly caught in a vice as she moves to grab her cup. Looking at her arm, she sees a tan hand, connected to a deliciously strong and tanned arm, connected to a scowling face gorgeous enough to make Adonis jealous. With a weak smile, Bulma meets the prince's eyes.

"Hey, Vegeta. Sorry, I just dropped something." Vegeta's eyes move away from her gaze, examining the area around them, his forehead creased.

"Seriously, Vegeta, I'm fine. You can let go… It kind of hurts." His eyes meet hers again and he looks down at his hand, gripped around her arm, and lets go, straightening up.

"There is no threat?" He asks, still looking unsure.

"Wha- No, there's no threat. I just spilled this tea all over myself and my blueprints like the big klutz that I am…" She rambles, while self-consciously crossing her arms around her damp chest. Still looking into the distance, Vegeta clenches his hands.

"I didn't mean to disturb you or whatever, Your Highness." She continues, trying to make light of the situation. He grunts in disapproval. Inwardly, Bulma sighs at herself.

"One should not _scream_ like a _banshee_ unless in danger." He crosses his arms and now they are mirroring one another.

Suddenly, Bulma remembers who is standing in front of her. Observing his bare torso, she sees a variety of scars- some raised, some lowered, one new right above his heart. She swallows the lump in her throat. This man, who is still gazing into the distance as if some enemy is on the horizon, has never known a life of peace. Every second he's had, he's fought for; and letting his guard down could very well have meant his demise during his servitude to Frieza. Her heart goes out to him.

"Hey, I'm sorry." She places a reassuring hand on his forearm, and feels his biceps tense underneath her grip. She feels his _deliciously large_ biceps tense under her grip. My, this man is _such_ a specimen.

He raises an eyebrow, sparing her a glance, and she sees his gaze flit down to her see-through shirt before drifting away again. A faint smirk grows on Bulma's face.

"Remember what I said before? About letting loose a bit? That's what you have to learn to do, now that you're on Earth where it's safe-"

"There is nowhere that is safe, woman." He says, his voice tired, like he's had this conversation with himself far too many times.

She blinks in response, opening her mouth to say something else, but he continues.

"People who think they are safe are easy targets. Always expect the worst." His eyes seem far away, like he's repeating something that was told to him long ago.

"But how can you _live_ when you have such a fatalistic mindset?" Bulma asks after a few beat of silence, curiosity and sadness hanging heavy in her words. Vegeta just shrugs, and she knows he is done speaking on this subject. When she notices him sneaking a look at her chest, she decides to change the subject.

"Well, if you think we might die tomorrow or something, don't you have better things to do than oogle me?" She gives him a playful smile and toss of her hair, attempting to lighten the mood.

He sputters for a moment, not unlike the way he did when she called him homeboy a few days, but recovers quickly. A smirk, the one that makes her toes curl, spreads over his face.

"Woman, I can think of things vastly better than just looking. But I don't think you're up to the challenge." The smirk stays in place, and Bulma's jaw almost drops to the floor.

 _Playful Vegeta?_ She never would have imagined… Did he really just say that to her? Quickly, she recovers her wits, resuming her confident stance.

"I don't think you've ever met a better opponent." She states with a hint of suggestion hidden under her assuming tone. He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, so he and his masculine scent and broad chest and muscled torso are _just_ invading her personal space. Enough to make her uncomfortable. Not enough to satisfy her.

"You raised your equation to the wrong power. Obvious mistake. " He whispers, his breath fanning over her face, his eyes staring into her own. For a moment, she has no idea what he's talking about, until she realizes she is still holding her (very wet) blueprints. Startled, she looks at the complex physics equation she had been working on and blanches. He was right. Looking up half a minute later, all she sees is his (very toned) butt disappearing toward the gravity machine. She wants to scream for the third time today, but she only bites her lip.

Freaking alien knows complex physics too, huh? He's not only the most ripped guy she's ever met, but he's one of the most intelligent as well…

She runs her hand through her hair as she watches his butt him walk away, a foreign, nervous feeling in her gut.

For the first time in her life, Bulma Briefs has a feeling that she is completely and irrevocably screwed.

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 **tell me which universes you'd like me to expand upon :) love always, america**


	5. mafia au

**i really love this chapter. one reviewer suggested a story centered around a forbidden romance, and this universe that's been cooking in my head for a while fits perfectly. welcome to an alternate universe in which bulma and vegeta are both born into the mafia... that is, rival mob families. enjoy :)**

 **i don't own dbz or any of these characters**

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She twists her lipstick and puckers her lips in the mirror, before gliding the color across her mouth. Wiping the edges of her lips, she blots and then twists the lipstick back into its case before placing it in its assigned pocket of her purse. Primping her hair one more time, she turns away from the mirror, satisfied with how she looks: lethal, but stunning. Her tight leather dress dips in the front, with straps that cling to the edges of her shoulders. Her strands of pearls clink on her neck, matching her large pearl earrings. A maroon trench coat and black pumps complete the outfit, and she grabs an umbrella from her apartment before stepping onto the rainy, autumn streets of New York. She doesn't want the rain to ruin her perfectly curled, shoulder-length, brown wig.

Her heels clack on the sidewalk as she makes her way to the subway. As she waits for the 7:15 subway to arrive, she closes her umbrella and looks around at the underground station that she hasn't stepped foot in since she was five years old. Glancing about, she sees business person after business person, along with the occasional tourist. She checks her Gucci watch.

Just on time, the subway arrives. Walking quickly, she enters the car before anyone else, nervously scanning her surroundings.

He's here.

She has to catch her breath slightly. She hadn't been sure he would actually come, but here her is, in the flesh. Gulping down her surprise and stress, she confidently walks to the back of the car, close to where he sits.

He wears a professional black suit with a grey peacoat, his coat collar popped. His normally flame-like hair is tamed underneath a black fedora, and his face is just hidden from her sight behind a newspaper.

Taking a breath, she takes a seat close to him, unsure if he noticed her entrance. Peaking over at him, she notices he hasn't responded at all to her appearance, and continues to stare down at the paper in front of him.

As she feels her heart beating quickly in her chest, she quiets the voices in her head telling her that she's insane. 'What would Mamma and Papà say? Or, worse, what would Yam say?' The thoughts run rampant in her mind, but she suppresses them.

The fifteen minute ride is silent and she can hardly keep from moving her seat so she can finally be in his face and ask him why he asked to meet with her when they ran into one another at the masquerade party a week ago. But, she maintains her stoic look, knowing that they must keep up appearances.

She knows a thing or two about this game.

Finally, the subway comes to a screeching halt and he stands up swiftly, folding his newspaper and stepping off of the car in a rush. She strategically allows a couple of people to exit before her, before stepping into the subway station herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his fedora disappearing up the stairs that lead to the street. Pushing her way through the crowd, she follows after him, worried she may lose him because of his height. Hurriedly, she climbs the stairs and feels panic set in for a moment. He's nowhere to be found. She walks a couple of paces, still scanning the crowd, when she feels someone approach her and slip an arm through hers.

"I hate rain in the city." She hears his gravelly voice and she lets out a huff of relief.

"I hate not knowing where we're going." She retorts as her steps synchronize with his. They effortless weave through the streams of people pouring over the sidewalk, their arms linked. She feels him smirk more than she sees him smirk.

"A control freak hm? Can't say it's surprising." He answers.

"What's surprising is that I still don't know what this meeting is about."

"Yet, you still agreed to come." This time, she glances up to catch the smirk that ghosts across his lips. His deliciously full lips. For the first time of the night, she gets a full glimpse of him. His suit is perfectly pressed as usual, and his jaw is still as sharp as a knife. His onyx eyes meet hers and she feels a rush of goosebumps erupt over her skin.

Not for the first time this night, she wonders if she's gone crazy for agreeing to this.

Suddenly, he stops, jerking her to a stop as well. WIth a flourish, he opens the door for her, leading the way into a high-end Japanese restaurant. She glances around, a small smile on her face as they approach the hostess.

"Good evening, Mr. Ouji. Your table is right this way." Bulma is surprised that they know him by name, and whispers it to him as they climb a flight of stairs to a secluded spot in the restaurant.

"So, is this where you take all the girls you don't want your parents to know about?" They've reached the table and he's easing her out of her coat. She hears him scoff.

She bites her cheek as he pulls his own coat off, revealing how his muscles strain against the fabric of his fitted suit. After hanging their coats and his hat, he appears behind her to pull out her chair.

"I only come here because I know the chef." His husky voice whispers into her ear, and her cheeks flush.

She sits down and he soon follows suit, grabbing the liquor menu.

"So…. Japanese?" She begins, attempting to break the heavy silence that had started to swallow them. He flashes her a grin.

"I've never run into any family members here and I don't think I will anytime soon." They both laugh softly.

"I don't think my Dad even knows what Japanese food is." She giggles, reaching to take a sip of her water. A waitress appears and Vegeta orders some sake.

"So Mr. Ouji, am I going to ever find out what this meeting is about." The sake has appeared and he's pouring her a glass, which he hands to her with a smirk.

"I miss the blue hair." He ignores her question as she takes a big sip of her drink.

"Well, that's just the thing, Mr. Ouji, I mean, I'm risking a lot by being here with you and-"

A laugh from him interrupts her.

"Topolina, since when did anyone from my family or your family show their faces in this part of town. Weren't we both just laughing at the thought of my capo dei capi or your family's capo dei capi dining here? How could they dine somewhere that doesn't serve vino? It's preposterous." He leans back to drink from his glass. Heat rises to her face as Bulma listens to him scold her like a child.

"Of course the godfather wouldn't eat here, but if you've grown up in Cosa Nostra and you don't understand that their are eyes and ears everywhere, then you've got another thing coming." She purses her lips at him. With a chuckle, he places his glass on the table.

"Listen, donna, you've got nothing to worry about. Just try to enjoy it." He gives her a lazy smile.

"And what do you mean by it?" She inquires moodily. He gestures to the table.

"This dinner."

"And what is this dinner meeting about?" She continues her rapid-fire questions. Again, he gives her an infuriating smirk.

"Cara mia, when did I give you the impression that this is a meeting?"

She opens her mouth to respond, but is struck mute by his statement. She thought this was some meeting about doing business behind their families' backs. Why else would he ask her to meet him on the 7:15 subway near her block? The secrecy, the covert directions he'd given her… She was sure he planned to organize something with her assistance. She'd been intrigued and excited at the prospect of finally doing something alone. Plus, she found the Ouji son to be incredibly attractive, and she was never one to deny herself dinner with a good-looking man.

Observing her lost look, Vegeta Ouji chuckles.

"This, woman, is not a meeting. This is a date." He says, amusement twinkling in his sharp eyes.

Her jaw almost hits the floor.

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 **side note: it's not cool to have stereotypes against Italian -Americans, and as an Italian-American, that is entirely not the point of this universe. on the contrary, this is a way of paying homage to my background :)**


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